Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)

Nineteen

The next morning we had just finished the Bible reading and I was filing downstairs to breakfast with the other inmates when I heard a raised voice coming from the reception area.

"I'm sorry. I've just told you. We have no Mrs. Kathleen O'Connor staying here."

I glanced down the stairs. A large policeman was standing there--the same constable who had escorted me home the night before. The moment I spotted him he happened to look up the stairs and saw me.

"There she is. That's her, with the red hair," he said, loudly and dramatically.

Every head in the place turned in my direction. I pushed past the other women and got to him before he could do me any more damage. Why had I been stupid enough to register here under my own name? Mainly because it was a hostel for unmarried women, I suppose, and because I had hoped I could finally give up the pretense of being Kathleen O'Connor.

"I'm sorry, Constable," I muttered to him so that the Bible lady couldn't overhear. "I didn't want to be traced. Just in case anyone was following me."

He nodded. "I understand, miss. Good thinking. And I'm really sorry to trouble you so early, but Captain Sullivan would like to see you right away."

No other summons would have made me miss my breakfast so willingly. "I'll just get my wrap," I said.

When I came down again, the constable was waiting outside, but the dragon Bible lady was hovering at the foot of the stairs, blocking my exit.

"This is a respectable establishment, Miss Murphy. I don't know what you have been doing but you should realize that anyone who finds herself in trouble with the law is not welcome here."

"I'm not in any trouble with the law," I said haughtily. "I witnessed a crime yesterday. The constable wants me to come to headquarters to make my statement."

"So are you really Murphy or O'Connor? Deceit is a tool of the devil, you know."

I'd thought this one out on my way upstairs. "Murphy is my maiden name," I said.

"I've gone back to it, since I arrived here to find my husband run off with another woman."

She looked at me with sympathy then, which made me feel guilty. Lying to a Bible lady was right up there with the seven deadly sins, I'd imagine.

"I understand," she said, patting my hand awkwardly.

"I have to go. The policeman is waiting," I said and hurried out through the front door, my

cheeks burning.

This time we took a cab. I was glad the dragon at the hostel didn't have to witness my being driven away in a paddy wagon.

Daniel Sullivan was sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, vest undone, collar undone, unshaven, looking somewhat the worse for wear.

"You look terrible," I blurted out. "Don't you ever sleep?"

He looked up with a tired smile. "Thanks for the compliment and no, not much while I'm on a case." He motioned to the chair beside him for me to take a seat. "And I seem to be on a permanent case since I met you."

"Don't go blaming it on me. I'm not enjoying it too much, either, you know." I spread my skirts and tried to sit gracefully. "Four days I've been in New York now and every one of them has been full of policemen and dead bodies. I'd just like to get on with my life."

He smiled again. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sure you do have plenty of worries of your own at the moment. These days can't have been easy for you."

They haven't been all bad, I wanted to say, and had to remind myself that it wasn't proper to start flirting with policemen--especially when I was still officially a married woman and only a hair's-breadth away from being a suspect myself.

He straightened the pile of papers in front of him. "Look, I'm sorry to call you in so early, but I wanted to get working on this right away. I thought over what you said last night and I had to admit it made sense." I tried not to grin and looked down at my hands.

"Who would have more to lose than a prominent New Yorker?" he went on. "So I had my men round up everything they could from the studio and we were in luck. Levy was an old-fashioned kind of photographer. If he'd been modern and used celluloid film in his camera, we'd have been out of luck. But he still used plates. We found an undamaged plate of the mayor's group and we've had a print developed. I want you to take a look at it."

He put the photograph on the desk between us. I bent over it, trying to concentrate, half conscious all the time of his head close to mine. Two rows of ladies and gentlemen, all looking

rather pleased with themselves. I recognized the mayor, standing in the middle, flanked by the entertainers, the Italian opera star taking up more than her fair share of space. Then in the back row, at the end of the line ...

"That's him!" I tapped excitedly at the photograph. "That man at the end on the right. I'm almost sure that's him. Same bushy whiskers and large stomach."

Daniel Sullivan gave a nervous laugh.